A Poem for Lucy
by Lucy Gaol
Summary: Maybe Merope Gaunt was a bit messed up, but so was how she grew up.
1. A Slumber

_Advice gratefully accepted_

He held the locket like a dull knife, ready to drive it into his wife's chest. Her breathing had stopped long ago, but he still loomed over her, watching. He himself barely breathed, letting all movement occur in the shaking of his clutching hand.

Morfin did not know what his father waited for. He had come to the doorway because of the noise and now stood transfixed before his father. Opened the locket revealed a portrait of a man, taciturn and aloof, he stared with uncaring eyes upon the dead family member.

His mother had rarely inspired emotion in him. Too pathetic, too weak, he hardly understood his fathers devotion. Now it seemed that his father had thrown away the precious gift their ancestors had left them, and his forefather in the picture was unimpressed.

He was startled by a small cry. He had forgotten why he had entered the room.

She had been born wrinkled, with a thick head of black hair much like his own. As Morfin examined her lying on the blood soaked sheets he considered that this was the real reason for his ancestors disapproving looks towards his father. Not for ignoring the infant, but for producing something so pitiful that was still in his line.

The child was going to be as inadequate as her mother.

But she was of their blood, blood spilt upon the bed, and Morfin had a duty to the blood that ran in his veins, even if he had no affection for it. Decision made he left the shadow of the lintel and approached his parents bed. He preferred to believe that he had never been that small. Even if he had once been, he had never appeared so weak.

Retrieving his sister he left his father still staring at the body of his wife.

({.})

Black haired and solemn, Merope grew up avoiding the attention of any who would give it to her. She had been taught long ago that attention was not something to revel in. Unlike the children of the town she knew that attention meant punishment. Only her brother was occasionally kind to her, throwing food at her as he shoved her out the door to sit in the woods. In the winter he would allow her inside, provided she collected firewood, to try to protect herself from the cold.

The children of the town had little to do with her and less to say. She knew, however, that if their parents ever caught sight of her the children's indifference would turn to aggression and hate. She tended to only interact with the children away from their elders eyes.

Her family had long existed outside the limits of the town and social acceptability. Her family was too strange, too odd, and her clothes were too poor and dirty for the parents in the town not to comment harshly on them to their children. Once that happened their children would see it as permission to open season on her, and she would be as hunted and pursued as the snakes her brother liked to nail to the door.

Snakes fascinated her as well, drawing her interest as she ran through the woods in which her families cottage stood. Part of the woods belonged to her family, part of the woods belonged to the squires family who lived in a large manor next to town. Her brother had cautioned her on where not to trespass once when she was very small, and she obeyed him with the adoration of small child looking at a miracle. At best he could muster was a strong indifference to her well-being. Merope, on the other hand, adored her brother. He fed and clothed her out of a sense of duty, but she listened to him and trusted him with all the strength of one who was shown no consideration from anyone else.

Initially the squire had only owned a small plot of land, just enough to maintain a small farm. The crops he grew went towards feeding his family, but his power in the community came from the pigs he raised. Eventually he had raised and sold enough pigs to buy his childless neighbors farm once he died. The neighbor died weeks after that deal was made, far earlier than the community had expected, but the Riddles were able expand their business. Their dealings caught the eye of the local lord who offered them the opportunity to run his lands while he consorted with others of his peerage. The former commoner accepted his squireship with humility and respect. Privately he raged that the lord was an ignorant fool who had done nothing for his people in years.

Many of the townspeople agreed with the new Squire, but most were skeptical of the squires treatment. Yes their Lord had been neglectful, but many preferred his hands off approach.

Eventually the Squires family became richer and richer and the Lord became poorer. Now the Riddles owned all of the town and most of the farms and woods surrounding. They were eager to eject the Gaunts off of their little hovel, having sold the manor for parts long ago. The small shack reminded them that they had once been just as low and poor, and the current Squire practically salivated at the thought of ridding the area of a man who had not been their Lord in centauries.

Lord Gaunt never acknowledged that there was a current generation of his family still living. When he deigned to talk, he talked he talked about his history. The older then ancestor the more likely he had given multiple soliloquies upon them.

({.})

The teacher in town thought Merope was an idiot. She asked too many questions. Her brother would have agreed with the teacher, if he did not disagree with everything he stood for and was. He attended school for the mandatory two years, enough to know his letters, and then left. Letters and numbers were all Morfin wanted to know, and all he needed to know. Summers he ran their farm, and winters he chopped wood for their house.

Since 1901 all children in England were required to receive schooling until age eleven. Merope hoped to go onto more school. She enjoyed school. The school house was warm in the winter.

Her father never talked about where he had gone to school. He must have gone to school, because his only friend sometimes talked about their school days. His friend, Tabor, sometimes brought her father work. Tabor was an enchanter. A rather good one too, based on how rich it made him. He could create swords that were always sharp, music boxes that played a different song depending on your mood, a riding crop that would leave scorch marks where it hit, ever burning torches, moving pictures, healing cloths, and moving statues.

Although not a pureblood himself, his skills were highly valued by the most powerful community in the wizarding world. Tabor always said, "You could only expect the rich to want something that does what they could do for themselves. Pluebloods have perfected the art of doing nothing."

What Tabor could not do Merope's father could. He just did not want to.

The healing cloth stumped Tabor. Her father refused, calling it a pitiful waste of time, asking Tabor why he felt the need to bother him with something so trivial.

Tabor retorted that, "This cloth needed to heal _everything, _including dark magic."

Marvelo asked him if he had not only grown fat with the success of his business, but stupid as well. Then Tabor explained that the client was a dueling champion, often needing to fight through his injuries.

"Even someone as ugly and old as you should know that speeding up any healing process was merely a matter of dying the cloth with the powder of a Juniper tree that had been struck by lightning." Tabor then informed her father that this client was part goblin.

Marvelo took that job of course, and many others of it's difficulty. He would always refuse payment, and Tabor would always sneak some money to her brother. Often that money would go towards a new goat or sheep, her brothers only love: his farm. Once her brother bought her a new dress because Tabor commented that such a pretty girl should not be wearing such ugly clothes.

({.})


	2. Did my spirit seal

I don't like the excuse of family. Many of my peers take the thoughts and opinions of their family because they have always followed them.

Family does not mean that they deserve my trust. Yes my mother loved me for nine months, but she died. My father hated me from the beginning. Then again, if I cared about such things I would be in a worse situation than I am already.

I cannot trust my family. I love something they abhor and would destroy if they could. Stronger they may be, but I have to try. I do not have the strength to live knowing I failed, you see. Sometimes I think it is harder to live than it is to die.

I have lived a conflicted life. My family was not one of kind words and gentle, caring actions. Rather my family was more prone to the temper that makes us the bane of any who would contact us. Not many come near us now.

I admit I am also prone to these fits of temper and instability that my family is know for. One would never know that, though. My temper is not expressed as my father and brother express it. They raise their voices; I hold my tongue. They are prone to utilizing their fists when frustrated; I allow the anger to focus my mind, showing me the best way to gain my goals. Fists may do damage in the short term, but my plots have destroyed more than they ever could.

I have hated my father since I was old enough to understand pain. When I was a child I felt pain, but I did not understand it. I felt the pain of hunger, of small bruises from my brothers pinches, from the slaps of my fathers hands. Pain was something I felt and forgot. I soon learned to remember the pain, and with memory came wisdom. I was not a child for long.

I remembered that my brothers fingers brought pain. I remembered that I felt better with goat milk mush in my stomach. I remembered that my father was someone to be avoided at all cost. Pain is a difficult mistress, one that demands that her students learn their lessons well and quickly, and I had many opportunities to learn.

I learned about happiness later. Happiness came from the avoidance of pain. Everything in my life revolved around hurting, always hurting. I was two when I learned how to plot. Pain was my mistress, and she first taught me avoidance, but that was mainly a lesson in passivity. She taught me to not provoke, to avoid. But soon she taught me to seize, to take. She taught me to steal from the larder when I was hungry. That was my first plot. She taught me that I had to move, I had to hide to avoid my brother, whose ministrations only grew worse as I grew from a small, pinched infant to a weary, hungry child. My father was easier to avoid, and he taught me lessons in passivity. My brother taught me to be active in my avoidance. He would seek me out, which meant I had to be one step ahead to avoid my mistress.

True happiness, happiness not from complacency or lack of pain came the first day I saw him. The son of the squire was beautiful. I wanted him. So I plotted, using happiness to motivate me and pain to guide me, knowing the consequences should I fail. Pain taught me to be cautious, happiness taught me to take risks.

I finally took that risk one day when he rode past our house. He asked for water. I gave him love. My potion was an act of love, of devotion. One day he will know that. Until then I give him the love he feels for me every night before we fall asleep in bliss. I am happy, and he is happy in my arms as well.

Maybe one day I will understand why my peers believe families should implicitly care for each other. Until then my Tom will receive his love from me every night. Every night until I am sure he could not abandon his family.


	3. No Human Fears

Her brother had no desire to go to Hogwarts, and her father had no desire to make him. So when her Hogwarts letter came it was unlikely that she would have even known what it was if not for Tabor. He once mentioned that the stories her father told to her, her brother and the empty room, were actually of the school they went to.

Well he told her that, "Your father talks about our school so much you think he graduated."

But the sentiment was there.

Hogwarts became her passion. In the cold walks to the small town schoolhouse she thought about the beautiful castle. When there was nothing to eat at home she thought about the feasts that appeared on the tables. When the school children chased her away from their games she thought about a place where he family wasn't the weird ones. Where everyone was dressed the same so her dirty clothes that no mother had washed weren't so obvious.

She mentioned it to her brother once when she was eight. He looked at her. Looked at her hair and her nails, and asked if she was smart enough to graduate if she wasn't even able to clean herself.

Tabor loved the idea. He thought that having another Slytherin descendant could only help his business, if it was known that he worked with her father sometimes. Right now, with how they lived, he never mentioned the connection, but if there was a respectable member of the family to point to he could begin to talk about that connection.

It started when she was ten. Tabor brought her father another job, this time for a bracelet that would heal snake bites. Her father accepted this job a lot easier than most, his fondness for snakes showing. Tabor chose to bring up her age. Although her father was incapacitated most of the time, he was still lucid enough to realize that Tabor wanted to talk about her going to Hogwarts.

He shut down.

She stayed away from the house for three weeks. She had been stealing food from the house, but she was eventually caught as she snuck in for dinner at two am.


	4. A kingdom by the sea

_We tore the tarry rope to shreds_

_With blunt and bleeding nails_

_We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors_

_And cleaned the shining rails:_

_And rank by rank, we soaked the plank,_

_And clattered with the pails._

_-Oscar Wilde_

_({.})_

_Dear Father,_

That's all she has written, the lazy girl. He was generous enough to give her time in her detention to write the required letterhome andshe wastes the time. The other teachers say that she is unfocused and unmotivated, contradictingthe hat's placementof  
her in Slytherin.

Her potions were impressive, he had to admit. While her written work was subpar, hence the detention and letter home, her practical work was well done. Not as spectacular as others, but solid well done work.

Perhaps it was her partner that bolstered her work though. His brother had been a genius of the highest caliber, and while he had not shown himself to be quite so impressive, maybe there was a latent talent present.

Either way she did have to write that letter home, and she would not do it by staring at the paper. No, he would keep her here until she finished and that was just how it would be.

At least he had grading to do, so she was not a complete waste of his time.

({.})

Detention passed quickly, as time with professor Dawl time passed in a blur to her, happy as she was to be safe and left alone. She thought about writing we letter to her father in their native tongue, but knew that would

only anger him. English would too, of course, but he would forgot that quickly. The greatest risk was if her brother would be hurt in the immediate fallout, for he would remember.

The walk from classrooms to the dormitory was not always safe. She still thought in terms of safe or in danger, but Hogwarts had helped her become more acquainted with the fact that one was never completely safe. Between such valuable lessons and full  
/meals Merope was thriving at Hogwarts, and it had only been a few months.


End file.
